


Troublemaker

by NitroStation



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Non-Consensual Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-12 10:07:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/810360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NitroStation/pseuds/NitroStation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Smokescreen learns not to bother the big scary monster in the basement. The hard way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Because there's not enough Smokescreen/Airachnid in the world.  
> [cries of 'yes there is are instantly muffled with chloroform.]
> 
> Look to 'Troublemaker' by Olly Murs for where the title came from.
> 
> [fanart shown is by sparkbroken-spider.tumblr.com]

Most Autobots would be recharging at night.

Most Autobots would avoid the monster in the basement.

Most Autobots would leave the prison holding said monster at bay alone.

Most Autobots were not Smokescreen.

At first it was simple insomnia, rousing him from the technical sanctuary of recharge. Then youthful curiosity that pushed him from his berth and out into the still unfamiliar corridors of the Autobot base. What had prompted him to slip into the vaults, he debated on blaming either curiosity again, or stupidity.

He was not a smart mech. He realised this when the lights above in this particular cell flickered online and highlighted the mostly empty space; save for the frozen centrepiece. In a way, Smokescreen was sorry that Airachnid was captured before he touched down on earth. He would have liked to see how the upper calibre of 'Con fought, though even he severely doubted that he would provide a challenge to Airachnid. He _had_ heard the stories, after all.

The Decepticons little pet hunter. No-one knew, or wanted to know, how Airachnid came to be. All that mattered was that she existed, and she was deadly. Unicron's servant deadly. She was one of a kind, which made formulating strategies against her increasingly difficult. Poisonous in many ways, some that even Smokescreen had not cared to hear the details of.

He watched her still shape from a distance, optics shifting nervously as he stood awkwardly in the vault cell. He wanted to just abandon the whole escapade and drop back into his berth, but the rabid biting of...what? Vigilance? Rebellion? Emerging suicidal tendencies? Whatever it was, it was eating at his spark and would keep him awake until satisfied.

Now the question was...what did it want him to do?

Smokescreen cautiously approached Airachnid's pod, not taking his optics off of her for a nanoklick. It would have been funny, seeing her mouth frozen agape and claws futilely stretched out if he didn't know that those claws would carve his spark out given the chance. Even so he couldn't help but tap his digits on the pod casing mockingly, a smug smirk cracking through his tense faceplate.

"Wakey wakey, Airachno," he whispered with a giggle, waving a hand in front of her face. "You're not lookin' too good, girl... maybe you've got bugs in your system?" He had to stifle his rising laughter and stumbled backwards, Airachnid as static as ever. "Ah, if only you could move..." he said almost contemplatively, turning away from the pod and towards the vault exit. Some humour therapy should have helped cure the insomnia. "The look on some 'Cons faceplates when you twist their gears like that, _priceless_."

"Do tell me about it, Autobot."

By the time Smokescreen registered his left servo colliding with the wall, sharp talons were already ripping painfully into his audio receptors, intent on causing some serious damage. And they succeeded before his optics could even refocus. The area just behind his audios was left sparking from the torn-out comm unit that now dangled as a useless mess of wires and crumpled plating in Airachnid's hand. His other servo was stuck to the wall as it subconsciously reached towards the sudden fire of pain at the side of his helm.

"What the frag?!" he hissed as something scraped along his lower faceplates, digging into his chin. His closed optics threatened to film with coolant from the stinging pain, but he blinked and forced them open to look at his attacker.

Pink honeycomb optics and a black smirk met his icy glare, and he growled in a mixture of shock and hate. "This how you greet _all_ your mechs, Airachnid?" His question earned a pleased chuckle from the spider hovering in front of him, supported by spindly legs planted firmly into the wall.

"Only when I've caught them admiring me from such a distance," she answered as her talons finally slided off of his chin, leaving tiny pierce marks in the metal. When they started trailing down his form though, he would have preferred them about to tear his faceplate off.

"I wouldn't so much call it _admiring_ as-" His remark was broken by a sudden grunt and focus of his optics as Airachnid's digits reached the seams of his pelvic armour, running along the dips and scoring into the armour. He tried to avert his optics from her growing fanged smile. And the straight view right down her chestplates, no matter how tempting it was.  
"Get your filthy claws off'a me," he demanded through clenched denta.

"Is that a _threat_ , Autobot?" Another cutting laugh answered her own question, though she did thankfully pull away her talons. "I don't think you're in any real position to be telling _me_ what to do." Smokescreen didn't realise he'd been holding in a circulation of air until he shoved his helm sideways away from the retreating spikes and curves of Airachnid's swishing frame. "But I suppose I should be somewhat _grateful_ to you for setting me free..." she continued contemplatively, skirting along the open shell of the pod that had imprisoned her less than a klick ago. "I'll humour you, for now." She leaned against one wall of the pod, optics still on Smokescreen- hands webbed to the wall and desperately trying to break through the sticky strands. "What's your designation, Autobot?" she asked so casually it was insulting, holding up a span of claws that were just borderline molesting him to her inspecting optics.

"And just why would I tell you, _Decepticon_?" he asked back, going limp with the suspension of the web. An eyeridge raised at him, mockingly offended.

"It's only proper," she replied with a shrug of her shoulderplates. "After all, _you_ know my name..." The smirk appeared again. Something that was starting to rise to the top of Smokescreen's list of 'Things That Have Most Scarred Me For The Rest Of My Miserable Life'. Well, it was a work in progress.

"I never knew 'Cons to be interested in _manners_ ," he said sceptically, trying anything to delay whatever the Spiderbot From The Pit had planned for him. "Though _you_ are certainly not like the average 'Con..." There would be someone manning the cameras in the base, either right now or sometime in the early morning. They'd see Airachnid got out and they'd come in guns-a-blazing and it'd all be fine. He just needed to hold out until then, just a few hours then-

_Oh scrap._

Airachnid followed Smokescreen's fallen gaze to the thick casing of webbing surrounding the only camera in the vault cell.

"You could say that," she explained with a deadly grin, inclining her helm to Smokescreen and pushing off her leaning post. "I like to think myself more... polite, poised, - Oh, excuse me for a moment, would you?" Twin streams of web shot from her palms at two opposite corners of the ceiling and before Smokescreen could even track the strands, she weaved them intricately into a swinging perch. "Ah, that's better," she sighed as she reclined on the sling-like seat, back legs folded in and one servo up supporting her head, the other's hand draped over her waist. "Now where was I..." A claw tapped at her chin as Smokescreen looked up at her in bewilderment. "Well, I could go on all night about what I _am_." A back leg slowly unfolded and reached out towards Smokescreen. He _really_  didn't like where this was going. "But I'm more interested in you, Stripes."

"Oh, we going with nicknames all of a sudden?" he said somewhat nervously as the razor end of the leg got just a _little_ too close to his face for comfort.  
"I can't go the whole night just calling you 'Autobot'. And if you're not going to tell me your name..." Airachnid made as her excuse with a wave of her draped servo, realigning herself more comfortably splayed on the webbing with a servo dangling over the edge and legs curled and raised in the air.

"...Smokescreen," he admitted with great reluctance, his helm dropping down in defeat. Anything he did now would only delay the inevitable. But that didn't mean he'd have to offline like a coward. How would Optimus go out? With a bang, a grin, and no regrets.

"Hm. I like Stripes better," Airachnid commented with a smirk of pure mischief. His optics swivelled up to meet her's and he smirked back at her. Her light chuckle filled the cell.  
"Now, how _did_ such a big strong bot like you get caught by little ol' me?"

"How 'bout you tell me, I get out and whoop your aft to Cybertron?" Smokescreen suggested, renewing his struggle against the bonds stretching his servos out. Primus, he'd never felt so damn vulnerable. To call it humiliating would be the understatement of the century.

"A lot of mechs would kill to get a shot at my aft..." she divulged, casually turning over in her hammock and-

 _'Primus take the wheel,'_ was all that echoed through Smokescreen's mind when his optics found the sleek curves and dips that were the wonder of Airachnid's aft. The two tail-like appendages that formed her spider abdomen had parted to reveal the blend of armour and bare protoform in all its glory. And _what a glory_ it was.

"Like what you see, Stripes?" Airachnid laughed at his mouth agape and optics sprung wide. Her voice snapped him out of the haze and he spluttered on the spot, trying to regain whatever dignity he had just lost.

"As much as I like getting swarmed by Scraplets," he answered, shutting his optics to the sight of claws running down her frame, a knee bending upwards and back legs doing something to the expanse of webs that held her up. At least she didn't have her optics turned on him.

"To each his own," she remarked with a long glance over her shoulders, seeing Smokescreen blind and thrashing again. "Tell me, how long was I trapped for?"

"A...few weeks, at most," he replied with a hint of revulsion at the new sound of metal scraping along metal.

"Hmm, it _has_ been a while..."

"Since what, dare I ask?" Smokescreen queried tiredly with optics springing open, almost instantly regretting the words as they left his mouth. In the space of less than a passing breem her web perch had expanded, and much of her armour had shifted. Especially at her pelvic region...

"Well, being the _only_ femme in the Decepticons, I'm used to being... satisfied much of the time," she detailed with a very suggestive- No, no, not suggestive, _disturbing_ , yep, that would work- sigh. And that didn't even _begin_ to describe where her servos where aligned to. Thank Primus she wasn't facing him.  
And of course just as the prayer went out in Smokescreen's processor she changed her position to lounge on her back.  
 _'Don't look..._  
Don't look...  
For the love of Primus, don't lo-

 

_You son of a glitch.'_

"Don't be shy, Stripes," Airachnid chided with a sick smile as Smokescreen's optics all but avoided where the centre of attention was.

"Oh ho ho ho, you are one sick girl," he bellowed with a repulsed shiver, trying in vain to block out the _squish_ sounds and echoes of her light moans.

"Says the one with the melting codpiece," she retorted breathlessly, purring moans only increasing and back legs spasming. Smokescreen's optics jolted to her face in shock and then darted aimlessly, searching for a comeback or _something_ to settle his frazzled processor. _'Frag... is it really that noticeable?'_ He himself was trying to ignore the steady pulsing of his spike against its casing as he was an unwilling witness to the erotic display. Oh, she was a beautiful femme- Decepticon or not-, no doubt about that, but the last thing he needed right now was for the girl herself to _know_ that he thought that.

The suggestive wink she threw at him and the sharp digit at her lips didn't help _at all_.

"Oh, don't worry, Stripes. I won't leave _you_ out," she promised just as another moan pushed past her vocaliser and only made the throbbing worse. All he could do was shut off his optics and try in vain to ignore her. Ha, ignoring Airachnid. That was a good one.  
Well if there was one thing he had learned tonight, it was that she liked to take her time.

And that he was an idiot.

Then again, he kinda already knew that.

During the course of what felt like endless hours, his optics periodically inched open and then promptly clamped shut again at what he saw through the tiny slits-more exposed purple protoform than armour with every peek- and his servos would wrestle against the stead-fast bond of the webbing around them. And the noise- _oh Primus_ the noise. He was no prude, but the sounds that that femme made... it was a wonder that his spike hadn't burst right through the covering.

He was pretty sure that she'd already relieved herself _quite_ a while ago and was only continuing just to see him shiver. A Decepticon through and through, even in her self service.

"You know, usually I think of Soundwave or Knockout or even Starscream when I have to resort to my own brand of release," she revealed in a content tone, relaxing back with a servo under her helm and another still lingering near her naked thighs. He _really_ hoped the damp shine on them was just an effect of the lighting. "But having a certain _Autobot_ in mind was _quite_ an experience." She laughed lightly at the scandalised expression frozen on Smokescreen's tense faceplates, optics now open but pointed down. _'I was just used as a pleasure object... I don't know if I should be horrified or complimented.'_

"Well, that _was_ exhausting," Airachnid lilted with a false yawn, stretching her servos above her head and straining her back legs out. "Oh, but wait. We still have to deal with _you_."

" _Wooooah_ woah woah, hang up there, lady," Smokescreen interjected, forcing his helm up and optics open. Well, she was armoured again. Partially. As long as he didn't look to the waist. "I do not need those claws anywhere near me, thank you very much. Now how 'bout you just slice me up, poison me, whatever you do to your pretty boys and I can get to the Well of All Sparks with some innocence le- Oookay, that's kinda the exact _opposite_ of what I asked," he stuttered helplessly as Airachnid neared him with wilted pink optics and back legs dangerously close to him. "Hey, i-if you could just move those _off_ the metal then that'd be...kinda, no, _really_ apprecia- No? That-That's not on your agenda?" Wandering talons hovered near the heat emitting from his lower armour and dark lips smirked closely at him. "I mean, really, you just get outta here before Optimus shows up, I mean, that-that is _really_ not necessary-" Something disabled his glossa at that moment and pulled his lips down. Something that was twisting and moist and- was that a hint of honey oil hitting his taste receptors? He let loose a moan before he could stop himself as Airachnid deeply kissed him, digits running on the underside of his codpiece. Don't let her find the button, don't let her find the- Of course she just _had_ to find the damn button. Scattered grunts emitted from the gaps between the union of his and Airachnid's glossas as a sharp edge traced the base of his free spike.

"You sure about that, Stripes?" she asked as she pulled away from his mouth, two claws stroking slowly along the length of his spike and gaining hisses of repressed pleasure from Smokescreen. Her glossa flicked around her parted lips as his optics had rolled upwards in an effort to avoid seeing himself being touched in such a way. But... what if she decided to just slice the thing off while he wasn't looking? Well, she _would_ do something like that.

When he finally forced his optics downwards though, Airachnid had moved her helm lower. A _lot_ lower. Oh Primus help him.

"Don't. You. Dare," Smokescreen warned, pushing against the webs and desperately trying to shift his waist to the side.

"Who's going to stop me?" If it wasn't for the current situation, Airachnid's tone would have been almost playful. He could have just stayed in his quarters, walked off the insomnia or something, _anything_ but come down here... That train of thought was brought to an abrupt crashing end as the throbbing ribs of his spike were licked agonisingly slowly from base to dripping tip. Fragmented groans spilled from between his gritted denta, which only intensified when Airachnid suckled on the tip, sitting on her knees and servos at her sides pushing her chestplates together.

 _"F-frag..."_ Smokescreen cursed under his ragged breath and for once couldn't tear his optics away from her, hips involuntarily thrusting forwards from the lapping waves of pleasure that were rising within him. His spike slipped down her throat and he could actually feel the moans emitting from her vocaliser, drops of transfluid trickling down; a foreshadow of the flood that was building inside. She winked at him as she swirled her glossa along the length of the appendage, and her back legs caressed his body with the seductive bite of the razor ends. His hips bucked again, only pushing him deeper into her ravenous mouth. In and out, glossa and denta, stroking and sucking, oh _Primus_ she knew what she was doing. It didn't take long for her mouth to drip at the corners with his release of transfluid, his final moans echoing through the vaults.

He didn't even notice his servos coming free, frame suddenly dropping to the floor while Airachnid licked away the last trails of fluid. "Now I don't know about _you_ , Stripes," she purred with a digit beaded with transfluid hanging in her mouth. "But that certainly _felt_ necessary." She doubted he could even hear him from his post-overload haze. Something between a laugh and a sigh floated past her stretched throat, and she planted a kiss on the deflated end of his spike. "Oh, it would be so easy to take your pretty little head right now." She took his chin in her claws again and gazed into his unfocused optics. "But I'd just _love_ to see you try to explain this to your teammates." He at least registered her chuckle and had the sense to close his stained interface panel. Just in time before he was webbed by the torso to the wall _again_.  
"I'll show myself out, shall I?" She was already half-way out the door, one servo raised in a mocking wave. "See you around, _Smokescreen._ "

The poor mech could only watch helplessly as she sauntered out into the vault corridor and not to the Autobot quarters, as he'd expected her to- but towards the emergency underground base exit. He didn't bother wondering how she knew where that was. Or how she even escaped from the now woefully empty pod in the first place.

Right now, Smokescreen had a _lot_ more to worry about.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath, Arcee's wrath and Bulkhead being a nosy aft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of forgot I had the epilogue saved but not added on here. Whoops.

"What did you say happened here, Smokescreen?" Optimus asked his shaking recent recruit, still covered with tiny filaments of webbing. Around him the rest of the Autobots gathered, with rightfully worried expressions. 

"I... heard some strange noises down here, came to check it out, and Airachnid just webbed me to the wall, knocked me out and went on her way," Smokescreen repeated for what felt like the sixth time that morning. He tried to dismiss Arcee's suspicious blue glare; it was her who found him strung up in the first place. After she'd burnt off the rage that blossomed in discovering Airachnid's escape on some punching bags and thankfully _not_ his chassis, her initial dislike towards Smokescreen returned with full force. 

"But how come there are so many web trails hanging about if she left as soon as she got you stuck?" Bulkhead asked, confused and anxious. Bumblebee chirped nervously to second those emotions, while Ratchet was as grave as usual. Smokescreen shrugged his shoulderplates, frantically searching for an answer that wouldn't reveal what _really_ happened that night. Oooh no, the less his comrades knew about that, the infinitely better. 

"Well, uh, she... I mean, I _did_ manage to ring her a few times," Smokescreen wagered, not noticing his optics flicking upwards and betraying him. "Her shots went off target before they got to me. Though the covering of the camera, yeah, I'd call that deliberate alright." Optimus made a neutral sound of acknowledgement, and turned towards Ratchet.

"The security camera was blacked out from between three and seven am?" Ratchet nodded grimly. 

"Before that we can see Smokescreen entering the vault- Primus knows _why_ -" The medic threw a glare at Smokescreen, who could only frown weakly. "And Airachnid emerging from the stasis pod. After that, there's webbing over the lens and everything is hidden."

"This is a grave situation indeed," Optimus said, servos on his hips and optics icy. "Airachnid won't return to the Decepticons, nor will they accept her back. But she can easily gather the Insecticons togethe-." A sudden series of surprised chirps from Bumblebee interrupted Optimus' musings, and he looked over to his scout. At his peds, his human charge Rafael stood somewhat nervously in front of the Autobots.

"Sorry for eavesdropping, guys," he began, shoulders hunched and arms behind his back. "But I heard about the camera being blocked, and if knowing what Airachnid did is important- for all we know, she might have rigged an explosive or something-" A series of considering grunts came from the assembled 'Bots, and Raf straightened slightly. "Anyway, if it's important...do you have sound recorders on the cameras?" 

_'Slag scrap frag scrap frag slag frag,'_ chanted through Smokescreen's processor at that moment.

"Of course we do!" Ratchet replied, servos folded. "What kind of surveillance system doesn't have audio recording?"

"Did you check it?" The medic's smug expression faltered, and Bulkhead chuckled at his slip-up. Even Arcee smiled slightly. But in the background, Smokescreen's optics grew as wide as a Scraplet's. Grumbling, Ratchet walked towards the nearby computer console and inputted something, bringing up an audio feed display. Smokescreen twitched his servos as if they were rusting and frantically looked around for an easy exit when the slag hit the fan.   
In three, two, one...

The clicking of the play button brought forth a blast of static from the computer speakers, before levelling out and playing dull ambient sounds. The noise was synched up with the accompanying video feed; when the door opened, the sound waves jumped up and played out the metal rolling upwards into its hatch. When Smokescreen taunted Airachnid trapped like some toy, it played out his teasing laughter. And when Airachnid had him webbed to the wall, it recorded every single word that was exchanged between them. 

_"This how you greet all your mechs, Airachnid?"_ Smokescreen's retreat from the base foyer paused at the sound of his voice, suceeded by a silky chuckle.

 _"Only when I've caught them admiring me from such a distance."_ Arcee's digits clenched into a fist at Airachnid's voice. If she was alone, she would have broken the console if it meant shutting the spider's insidious voice off. In front of her Optimus' expression hardened, and he threw a glance at Smokescreen trying to back away from the scene. 

_"I wouldn't call it so much_ admiring _as-"_ With a sudden grunt now filling the recording, Smokescreen could only watch as his dirty little secret was pushed out into the open. An inane exchange that he tried to forget took over, directly contradicting what he said about being unconscious when she made her escape. The prospect of drifting along aimlessly in space didn't look too bad all of a sudden. 

Still seated at the console, Raf looked curious as he absorbed the voices of Smokescreen and Airachnid, trying to decipher what might be going on from the noises. Optimus looked... angry. Hoo boy. Bulkhead and Bumblebee were fairly neutral, Ratchet sullen and Arcee... if looks could kill, Smokescreen would have been a burn mark on the ground.

"You told her _your designation_?" she hissed at him, as if he'd just revealed the entire contents of the Iacon database to Airachnid. He might as well have from the fury etched into every curve of her faceplate. Fury that only increased with every word that Airachnid said. 

_"Like what you see, Stripes?"_

Even through the recording Smokescreen's attempt at being resolute failed through the tremors in his voice. Arcee's optics now glanced aorund in confusion as to what 'view' they might be referring to. 

_"Tell me, how long was I trapped for?"_

_"A... few weeks, at most."_ A rush of searing heat went to Smokescreen's faceplate at what was coming up. He was only _just_ beginning to forget those damn noises she made... and now his whole team would be given the dear opportunity to hear them. Fan-fragging-tastic.

_"Hmm, it has been a while..."_

_"Since what, dare I ask?"_

_"Well, being the_ only _femme in the Decepticons, I'm used to being... satisfied much of the time..."_ The silence that succeded Airachnid's revelation was finished with a horrified look spreading across Arcee's faceplate. She strode over to the console and clamped two digits over Raf's ears, much to the human's surprise.

"Hey! What're you-"

"Bee, _get him out of here,"_ Arcee commanded the scout with a hint of revulsion. Bumblebee whirred in bewilderment but complied, scooping his charge into his palm and covering his ears as well. 

"Arcee, what's the de-" Bulkhead's question was aruptly cut off by a series of ambient sounds coming from the audio feed. Moans. Gasps. And Smokescreen's apparent lack of protest. " _Ooooh_ boy..." Of all the group, Ratchet was the most familiar with the 'functions' of the Cybertronian body, so he instantly recognised the sounds. His optics widened and darted to and fro. 

_"Oh ho ho ho, you_ are _one sick girl..."_

 _"Says the one with the melting codpiece._ " When Bumblebee re-entered the room, the scene was played out with Arcee's optics burning furious accusations into Smokescreen- a deer caught in the blue headlights- and Optimus straining to maintain a blank expression. Bulkhead's faceplate fluctuated between discomfort and disturbed interest. It only took a few klicks for the reason why to reach Bumblebee's audios. His already-fractured vocaliser short-circuited from the torrent of panicked chirps that pushed out from it. The sound of frizzled circuits seemed to snap the other Autobots out of their traumatised haze. 

"How...long does the recording go on for?" Bulkhead asked as casually as he could in a feeble attempt to glaze over the undiluted awkwardness of it all. Arcee looked back over at the audio feed wavelengths on the screen, servos clamped around Smokescreen's neck. 

"Two. Hours," she replied in a growl as her digits tightened painfully around his neck cables, almost lifting him off the ground. Grumbling incoherently Ratchet walked stiffly up to the screen and dutifully fast-forwarded it, the previous uncomfortable moans sped up and only growing louder. He stopped when the garbled sound changed in tone. 

_"...really, you just get outta here before Optimus shows up, I mean, that-that is really not necessary-"_ Smokescreen's stammered voice played out again, and Optimus' eye ridge twitched up at the sound of his name. 

_"You sure about that, Stripes?"_ Airachnid's renewed purr sent a _very_ unwelcome pulse through Smokescreen, and he was only grateful that Arcee wasn't close enough to feel the radiation lower down. Bumblebee was whirring frantically, and he backed out of the room unnoticed with everyone's attention on the audio. 

_"Don't. You. Dare."_

_'Slagscrapfragscrapslagfraggingslag.'_ Somehow, Smokescreen had forgotten about the highlight of Airachnid's nightly escape. The residual tingling in his interface panel should have kept his mind afresh of that little moment. If Arcee didn't have a vice around his neck, he would have happily collapsed then and there.

 _"Who's going to stop me?"_ Bulkhead chanced a curious look over at proccesively-mutilated Smokescreen as his own groans spilled from the speakers. Optimus shuttered his optics with exasperation and Ratchet tried to keep his optics down. Arcee shook with as she understood what was going on, and screamed before throwing Smokescreen down and storming out before she blew up the whole base with a raging blaster shot. 

In a last ditch attempt to preserve a fraction of his dignity, Smokescreen played the pleading card. "Optimus, do we really need to-"

"Yes, Smokescreen, I believe we _do_ ," Optimus cut in with a low rumble, instantly silencing the young warrior. The recording continued, filled with wet sucking and more moans and pleasured cursing. When the long period finally reached its end, marked with the loudest moan of all from Smokescreen.

Shocked silence rang out, broken only by ragged cycles of air, and eventually Optimus' measured command.

"I will speak _personally_ with you on this matter later, Smokescreen," he promised darkly, optics scorching. "For now... we have work to do." As he exited the room with large steps, Smokescreen stared after him with worried optics. 

_'I failed him... Primus, how could I be so damn dumb?!'_ Something large landed on Smokescreen's back, and he almost toppled to the ground. 

"So, uh, Smoke..." Bulkhead started awkwardly, a servo rubbing his helm and optics avoiding the younger mech. "...how was she?"


End file.
